Confessions: He's the Rich BoyHe's My Soldier Boy

by Lisa Jackson

  There had been a few females that he’d met that hadn’t seemed all that interested in his wealth. The women he’d dealt with in Oregon had had no idea that he was heir to a fortune, but he had been the boss—the owner of the logging company—and, for a small mill town, even the money he’d managed to make there had seemed a fortune to many of them. He’d never trusted their motives. Whenever a woman, a friend or lover, had gotten too close to him, he’d managed to cut ties with her.

  Not that he cared. He whistled harshly to Leo and walked outside. A pale November sun was trying to warm the ground, but fog, in long, disappearing fingers, climbed up the trees and settled in a thick blanket over the lake.

  Hayden kicked at a stone and sent it rolling toward the water. What was it about Nadine that made him see red? She wasn’t always disagreeable, though he’d never met a more stubborn woman in all his life, but she had a way of rankling him to the point that he wanted to shake some sense into her or throw her on the ground and take her in a very primal way. He fantasized about her submission and realized it was his fantasy because she wasn’t the kind of woman who would submit—those kinds of women turned him off. No, Nadine was a woman who knew her own mind, with a short fuse and a powder keg of emotions that was just waiting to be set off. It was the challenge in her eyes, the defiant lift of her chin and her sharp words that tied him in knots.

  But she was dishonest. She’d already proved that much by lying about her marital status and trying to deceive him about the bloody money his father had paid her. Damn, what a mess!

  Despite her deception, she fascinated him, intrigued him in a way that was as dangerous as it was impossible to ignore.

  What was wrong with him? Just one look at her pouty lips, and he was ready to kiss her so hard, she’d have trouble breathing for days. Fool! Idiot!

  Bradworth had contracted with her to work two weeks. Thirteen days were left. Surely he could rein in his emotions, manage to keep his hands off her and find a way to be civil to her for thirteen lousy days.

  Shaking his head, he reached down and scratched Leo behind the ears. “I’ve never been a saint,” he admitted. An understatement. “Dealing with that woman is probably going to kill me, but I can’t let her win. If she can stand it, so can I.”

  Leo whined and thumped his tail.

  His temper cooled, Hayden walked back to the house and locked himself in the den, trying to concentrate on the corporate records, but he heard her footsteps as she made her way to the kitchen. He called Bradworth, and asked a few questions, but was distracted by the sound of her humming an old Roy Orbison tune as she worked.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, tried to block her out of his mind and was half-crazy by noon. Angrily he slammed the books shut and convinced himself it was time for a break. Striding into the kitchen, he caught her, on her hands and knees, facing away from him, cleaning out a cupboard under the stove. His gut tightened as he noticed the way her jeans stretched across her rump and his mouth went dry when she looked at him over her shoulder, her red hair falling around her face and neck in untamed curls. “Is there something you want?” she asked him, and his vocal cords seemed to freeze.

  He tried and failed to shift his gaze away from her. “I’m going out. Lock up when you leave.”

  “Yes, boss,” she drawled, her eyes defiant. “Anything else?”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and ignored the sensual curve of her lips. “Can’t think of a thing.”

  She arched a fine mahogany brow, then turned back to her work.

  “If you need me, you can get hold of me at the mill.”

  “I’ll manage,” she replied, never even glancing back at him and scouring the bottom of the cupboard as if her life depended upon it. She heard his keys jangle and his footsteps fade away. Once the back door slammed shut, she rocked back on her heels and blew her bangs from her eyes. She’d been able to sound cool and indifferent to him, but knowing he was in the house set her nerves on edge. She had listened for him, had expected to run into him at every corner, had found herself wondering what he was thinking. He’s thinking that he’s the boss and you’re the maid. That’s all. And you’re not even a maid he wanted. So get over it already. He’s not worth it!

  If only she could.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS LATER, she’d locked the house and driven to Gold Creek Elementary. She hadn’t seen Hayden again and had shoved any thoughts of him aside as she sat in a small chair at a round table in Wanda Zalinski’s classroom. Nearing forty, Wanda was slightly plump and her long black hair, pulled back with two colorful barrettes, was streaked with gray.

  Wanda’s smile was genuine. “John’s not a bad kid,” she said, moving her hands as she talked. “He’s just got a lot of energy and sometimes that energy isn’t expressed in a positive manner. On the playground he’s a ringleader and always in the middle of trouble if there is any. He doesn’t always cause the trouble, mind you, but if there’s a fight brewing, John’s there.

  “He’s also back talked the music teacher and been disruptive in the library.”

  Nadine’s shoulders slumped a fraction.

  “On the other hand, John’s extremely bright. In fact, a lot of times I suspect he’s bored. I’ve given him a couple of special assignments and he’s done very well with them. Right now, he’s helping another student who’s struggling.”

  Nadine cringed inside. John, who always taunted his younger brother, didn’t seem a model teacher’s assistant.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Wanda said, as if reading her worried mind. “He’s doing well. The boy, Tim, is improving.” She smiled encouragingly. “Academically, John’s at the top of the class, and we’re working on his social skills. If you reinforce at home, what we’re trying to do here at school, I think we’ll see a vast improvement by the end of the school year.”

  Nadine only hoped so.

  “I...I, uh, was hoping John’s father would come to this meeting.”

  “He had to work,” Nadine said quickly.

  “Well, please let him know. John needs strong role models, and you can’t do it alone.”

  “Sam will help out.”

  Wanda managed a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew Sam, of course. Most of the people in town did. There had been gossip at the time of their divorce; no doubt Wanda Zalinski had heard it. Wanda’s husband, Paul, a deputy for the sheriff’s department, had even hauled Sam into jail one night when he’d been partying too late, been pulled over and failed a breath test for alcohol.

  Gold Creek was a small town. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. However, if Nadine, or Sam for that matter, ever needed anyone’s help, they had a web of friends and relatives that seemed to go on forever. Nadine could suffer the gossip for the security. It was more than an even trade.

  * * *

  HIS FATHER’S OFFICE felt uncomfortable. Though Garreth had only spent one or two mornings a week at Monroe Sawmill in Gold Creek, he had the most spacious office in the building. At that, the room wasn’t fancy—not like his office in San Francisco—but, by the standards of this mill, the room was impressive. Carpeted in commercial grade sable brown, the office boasted built-in metal shelves and a large wooden desk. Two chairs, worn orange vinyl, were situated near the window and a battered olive green couch had been pushed against the far wall. There were three filing cabinets and the walls were covered with pictures of Little League teams who had been sponsored by the sawmill company. Hayden wasn’t in any of the pictures of the smiling boys dressed in uniforms of varying colors, but he recognized some of the boys he’d known as a kid. Roy Fitzpatrick was in several, along with his brother, Brian. Scott McDonald, Erik Patton, and Nadine’s older brothers, Kevin and Ben, were on some of the teams from over ten years ago. Their pictures had faded with time, but there were more recent colorful pictures of kids who were probably still in school today. Without realizing what he was doing, he checked over most of the photos, his eyes scanning
the grinning faces of boys dressed in uniforms that looked as if they were made by major league manufacturers. Nadine’s boys weren’t among the eager group in any of the shots.

  Why had she lied about being married? he wondered for about the hundredth time.

  His father’s secretary, a small birdlike woman of about sixty named Marie Inman, was more than eager to bring him old files and reports and keep his coffee cup filled. She refused to call him Hayden, though he’d told her several times he preferred it to “Mr. Monroe.”

  Most of the company’s accounts, payroll records and general information were on the computer, but Hayden was calling up old information—information from thirteen years before, so he sifted through dusty, yellowed printouts and general bookkeeping records, hoping that he would discover that his old man had lied, and that the check he’d waved at him under his nose was phony.

  His gut grew tight when he found what he was looking for: a check made payable to George Powell for five thousand dollars. The notation was “return on investment.” Some investment. Hayden’s stomach soured as he remembered lying in the hospital in San Francisco, his leg in a cast, his body racked with agony between mercifully numbing shots of painkillers.

  His father had visited him. Garreth’s face had been florid, his blue eyes as cold as the bottom of Whitefire Lake. “This is what that little tramp wanted, Hayden.” He waved a check in front of his son’s nose. “Money. That’s all. When women look at you, that’s what they see—dollar signs.”

  Hayden had tried to protest, but Garreth raged on.

  “I hope to God she’s not pregnant! That would kill your mother, you know. And Wynona, Lord only knows what that sweet girl thinks.”

  “I don’t care ’bout Wynona,” Hayden had managed to say. Strapped down to the bed, he felt cornered, like a bear in a trap.

  “Well, you’d better care, son. Because she’s planning on marrying you. That is if she survives. She’s still in ICU, you know. Thanks to you! I don’t know what you could’ve been thinking telling her you weren’t going to marry her.”

  Hayden bit back the sharp retort forming on his tongue. The truth would only enrage his father further.

  “Thank God for Dr. Galveston and all his connections. Wynona’s getting the best care possible.”

  “I’m not going to marry Wynona,” Hayden said firmly as a tiny dark-haired nurse swept into the room and added something to his IV.

  “Just rest,” his father insisted. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “I’m not—”

  But Garreth had already huffed out of the room and soon the medication had dulled Hayden’s pain as well as his mind. He had slipped away to blissful, painless unconsciousness.

  In the intervening years, Hayden had hoped that his memory had been clouded, that the check that had been shoved under his nose either had never existed and was a figment of his foggy mind or had never been cashed.

  From Nadine’s reaction when he’d brought up the check, he’d hoped that his faith in her could be restored. But the notation in the general accounting books was right where it should have been, written two days after the accident.

  Marie bustled into the room. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Monroe? More coffee?”

  “Not now. Thanks. And it’s Hayden,” he said. As she left the room as quickly as she’d entered, he looked around the office, smelled the remnants of stale tobacco in his father’s humidor and wondered what the hell he was doing here.

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW days at the Monroe house were tense. Hayden and Nadine tried to avoid each other, but even in a three-storied house the size of a manor, two people did bump into each other and Nadine dreaded each meeting.

  He spent some of his time at the mill, some of his time on the phone, and a little of his time outside, doing a few of the repairs that she’d brought to his attention. Nonetheless, there was still a lot of hours when they were alone in the house, and Nadine, as if she had a sixth sense, knew where he was at just about any given second.

  Which irritated her. She wanted to ignore him, to pretend that he wasn’t around. But she heard the scrape of his boots, or the softer step of his running shoes, and sensed when he was in the room next to hers. Several times she’d caught him gazing at her, staring at her with those intense blue eyes that seemed to scrape down her body and penetrate her soul.

  There was a new anger in him, a deep rage that he tried to hide, but was evident in the harsh set of his jaw and the tense cords in his neck that bulged whenever she spoke to him.

  On Friday, she couldn’t stand the strain a moment longer. She had just finished cleaning the fireplace in the living room. The ashes had been hauled outside, the andirons gleamed, the mantel had been polished and the brass candlesticks actually sparkled for the first time in years.

  Wiping her hands on her jeans, she glanced into the oval mirror over the mantel and caught Hayden openly staring at her. Propped by one shoulder, he leaned against the heavy woodwork of the arch separating the dining room from the living room. His frown was deep, his eyebrows drawn together and if looks could kill, she would have already been laid in a coffin by now.

  “Don’t tell me—this doesn’t pass the white-glove test,” she said, watching a tic near his scarred eyebrow.

  “I don’t give a damn how clean it is.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have hired me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I’ll be done by the end of next week,” she said, and hid her disappointment that he didn’t seem to appreciate any of her labors. She’d spent hours polishing the piano, washing the windows and dusting the chandelier while standing on a ladder and hand-rubbing each crystal teardrop of glass. The oak floors were waxed to a deep patina, and once the crew came out to shampoo the carpets, the living room would look as grand as it had years ago when Hayden’s parents had thrown parties here. However, she wasn’t going to let Hayden’s pessimism infect her. She’d done a good job and she was proud of it.

  “You know, Hayden,” she said, unable to hold her tongue a minute longer, as she ran her fingers down the keys of the piano and the room seemed to shiver with the sound, “I don’t understand why you’re so hostile.”

  “I’m not.”

  She held his gaze steadily. “You act as if I did something horrible to you. Something unthinkable. Or else, you’re substituting your guilt for rage.”

  “My guilt,” he repeated, unfolding his arms. “My guilt?”

  She walked a few steps closer to him. “The other day you mentioned money—blackmail money or hush money. I thought you’d really gone off the deep end at the time, and I tried to forget about it, but I can’t. Just what is it you think I did?”

  “I know about the five thousand dollars.”

  “What five thousand?”

  Hayden’s eyes darkened in anger. “The money my father paid yours so that you wouldn’t come chasing after me, or spread rumors about us or claim that we’d slept together.”

  “Wh-what—?” Nadine’s mouth dropped open, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

  “That’s right, Nadine, I found out. The old man brought me the check, shoved it under my nose in the hospital.” His lips twisted into a cruel grin. “I thought you were different.”

  “There...there was no money. Your father lied.”

  “I thought so, too,” he admitted. “Hell, I wanted him to have told me the biggest lie of all time. But he didn’t, Nadine. The check was cashed. I saw the records when I went into the company office. The check was written two days after the boating accident and it was cashed three days later. Your hush money.”

  “No!” Her knees felt weak, and she placed the flat of her palm on the piano, making a horrid noise, to support herself.

  “There’s no reason to try to cover it up—”

  “I never saw a dime of your damned money, Hayden,” she said, stiffening her spine. “And your information is all wrong. We lost everything—our house, our savings, eve
n our family—because of some investment scam your father dreamed up.” Shaking inside as she thought about how they’d suffered, she grabbed her pails of polish and headed for the front door. “I never thought I’d say this, Hayden, but you’re just like your father!”

  She tried to barrel past him, but he caught her arm and swung her around. The pail flew out of her hand, clattering to the floor. One bottle of polish crashed, the plastic containers rolled crazily upon the hardwood and Hayden placed her between himself and the wall.

  “Don’t you ever compare me to him,” Hayden warned.

  “Then stop acting like him. Stop believing lies that are all bound up in money! For God’s sake, Hayden, be your own man!”

  She saw his eyes blaze and the muscles in his face tense. He was breathing unevenly and his body was shoved hard against hers. Swearing, he suddenly covered her mouth with his and kissed her brutally. His lips ground over hers and he shoved his tongue between her teeth, tasting, touching, exploring.

  Nadine’s emotions were ragged, her patience worn thin. The assault caused her bones to turn to liquid and yet she didn’t want to kiss him; she didn’t! She tried to fight him off, but her hands, balled into tight fists ready to strike, slowly uncoiled and he captured her wrists, holding each by her side.

  Her breasts were crushed, her abdomen flattened, her hips pinned intimately to his. Her mind closed to her arguments and she kissed him back, accepting his hungry tongue, her body thrilling at the feel of his hands as they released her arms and wound around her, dragging her closer still, until her clothes were suddenly too tight and she imagined herself making love to him, just as she’d imagined it years before.

  He released her as suddenly as he’d taken her into his arms, and though she felt suddenly bereft, she wouldn’t let him know that she tingled for his touch. “Was that supposed to convince me of something? Was I supposed to be tamed into believing all your lies? Did you think I would turn submissive because of one stupid kiss?” she threw back at him.